


The Old House at the End of Pearl Street

by lisachan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ghost Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: Andy and his parents moved into the old house at the end of Pearl Street a few weeks ago, despite Andy's grandfather's warnings about a chained ghost haunting it. The good news is: the ghostdoesexist, but Andy finds him pretty hot, more than scary (despite the cold temperature of his skin).
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	The Old House at the End of Pearl Street

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write weird shit.
> 
> Written for the 29th edition of LDF's [White Night](https://www.landedifandom.net/notte-bianca-29/)! Prompt was the amazing "Look what you made me do", which also gave bonus points for those who used in within a ghost story. Nailed it?

Andy knows it’s gonna happen, and he honestly can’t wait for it. It’s been happening already for a couple of weeks, starting a few days after his parents and him moved into this house.

It was his grandfather who told him the story of the chained ghost, but of course Andy wouldn’t believe it, at first. Gramps hasn’t been making any sense in years, anyway, he keeps mixing up his crazy dreams and reality and he can never tell which is which. Sometimes he’ll just tell you “can you shoo that cat away, boy, I’m allergic,” and there won’t be any cat around for miles, certainly not in his old apartment downtown, and Yolanda, his caretaker, will just tell him “no cat there Mr. Blooms,” in her funny accent that sounds like she speaks with no commas, “Leave the boy be he be doing his homework”. And his gramps will insult her, and she’ll laugh it off as she always does, while she gets some tasty snack ready for him.

The vast majority of things his gramps says are not just silly, they’re also boring. Sometimes he’ll just reverie about the war and he’ll just go on telling stories until someone reminds him he didn’t fight in any war. Then he’ll swing his wooden stick in the air and he’ll say “then how did I lose this leg, huh?”, and someone, more often than not his dad over Sunday lunch, will remind him he lost it due to diabetes, certainly not the war.

Andy would never stop his grandfather from telling stories, he loves listening to stories in general, but those tales are pretty boring, Andy doesn’t like them, to be honest. Gramps seems to take in very high consideration tales of blood and honor, when this imaginary war is concerned, but Andy doesn’t care for war stories, he cares for mysteries, creepy things, horror stories. Tales of terror that keep him up at night. He’s got a full couple shelves in his library dedicated to King, Poe and Lovecraft, he watches much more horror movies than he probably should at his age, but he’s not traumatized by any of them, he doesn’t have nightmares, he never woke up in the middle of the night screaming in fear for something he might’ve read or seen that got stuck with him.

He finds horror entertaining and even comforting, somehow. There’s something that makes him feel good about being scared of things that he knows don’t exist. And, if he lets himself believe they exist, instead, there’s something exciting about it, something thrilling in knowing reality as he knows it could be overturned at any minute by the apparition of something unexplainable.

Like it happened with the chained ghost.

When his parents told his gramps they were going to move into the old house at the end of Pearl street, the old man freaked out right away. “You can’t!” he said, anxiously, “The mansion’s haunted!”

Of course, his parents would not believe him. Mom never had any patience for gramps’ ramblings and immediately left the room, while dad just sighed and shook his head, drowning in his coffee. Andy’s interest, though, had been awakened by one word his grandfather had used – haunted. If the house was haunted, it meant there where ghosts inside, or at least spirits. And Andy didn’t really believe that ghosts and spirits actually existed, but damn, did he love stories about them.

“What do you mean, gramps?” he asked.

His grandfather was just waiting for an excuse to start telling, and he told the story of the chained ghost inhabiting the old mansion at the end of Pearl street, a house that were said to be more than two hundred years old. Back in the day, it had been the house of an extremely rich family – mom, dad, two children, one young girl, one slightly older boy. The tale, as morbid as it could be, said the mother one day lost her mind and killed both her son and her daughter with a knife, cutting their throats down to their bellies, their entrails slithering out their bodies like spasming snakes. The father came back home later than night, after work, and found her drenched in his children’s blood, still holding the massacred corpses, crying desperately after having pulled out all her hair from her head. In a fit of rage, he strangled the woman, but when he told the police what had happened they would not believe him, and accused him of having murdered his whole family. They locked him inside the house as they waited for the coaches to arrive and take away the bodies, and carry him to the prison, but facing the threat of being hanged for a crime he hadn’t committed, heartbroken by guilt for having been able to do nothing to save his children and for having killed his wife, the man grabbed a chain and hanged himself from a beam.

“Ever since then,” gramps said, “He’s been seen wandering the house, carrying heavy chains dragging behind him against the floor, searching for his late wife and children’s ghosts, to reunite with them. The legend says if you see him, he’ll wrap his chains around you too, and carry you into the world of the dead.”

Now, Andy could confirm the chained ghost would wrap his chains around you, but the carrying into the world of the dead? Some day he’ll have to correct his gramps about that part.

Lawrence – that’s the name of the ghost – showed up for the first time after a few days since they moved in. Andy has no idea why the man chose to show himself to him and not, for example, his parents. Perhaps he could sense he was waiting for him, that he was anticipating his visit, curiously wondering about it.

He appeared in the middle of the night and he was everything Andy had hoped for. Tall, extraordinarily white, his body looking at the same time physical and aethereal, like it had a consistency, but no weight.

Andy wasn’t scared, not really. His heart was beating like crazy, that’s for sure, he thought it’d beat out of his ribcage if he didn’t calm down, but that was not fear, as testified by the mesmerized smile that opened on his lips.

The ghost seemed to be taken by surprise. No one, he explained, had ever welcomed his apparition with a smile.

Now, how their relationship, from a series of polite bedside chit-chats, could evolve into what it is _now_ , that’s still a mystery to Andy, and sometimes a bit of a blur, too. He’d be lying, though, if he said he did not like it.

Stretching on the bed, he turns his head and reaches out for his phone to check the time. Almost 2 AM. His parents have been sleeping for hours, already, and the house is shrouded in darkness and silence. The best conditions for Lawrence to appear.

He does a few minutes later, actually, announced by the clinking sound of his chains against the wooden floor. Andy immediately scrambles on his knees, a big smile opening up on his lips. “Lawrence?” he calls expectantly.

Slowly, but surely, Lawrence’s pearly white figure starts to solidify in front of him. The darkness pushes him into being like sometimes it feels the dark clouds do at nighttime, when they let the moon peekaboo through their jagged edges.

He’s smiling, of course, that twisted grin that always makes Andy’s stomach somersault in his belly. “You’re already awake,” he says, “I swear I miss waking you up like I used to.”

Andy chuckles, sitting down cross-legged on the bed. He waits for Lawrence to come close enough, so that the dim light coming from his translucent skin reflects on his own, dark one. He loves that contrast. Seeing himself in Lawrence light. “That was creepy,” he comments, “I much prefer being already awake when you come calling. At least we don’t waste no time.”

Lawrence grins knowingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He really sits down, and Andy can see him and feel his presence, but the mattress doesn’t really shift underneath him, the covers just wrinkle a little. “You sound eager,” he says.

Andy giggles, feeling stupid but not as much as he feels happy. “A little bit,” he confesses. Then he gets up on his hands and knees, and crawls towards him, reaching out for his body.

Touching Lawrence is an amazing experience, Andy loves to do that. Looking at him, transparent and luminous as he is, one would imagine him to be impossible to touch, like a cloud, but Lawrence can be touched. His body’s cold, almost freezing cold, and it’s hard like marble. Once, Andy told him having sex with him felt like having sex with a statue. Lawrence laughed about it, but Andy still stands by it.

Lawrence rests his full weight against his hands, leaning back to offer himself to Andy’s curious exploration of his body. Once again, the bed doesn’t even seem to register his weight moving, which Andy finds incredibly amusing. He crouches down next to him, resting his head for a second against Lawrence’s cold, cold thigh. “Can I suck you off?” he mewls in anticipation.

Lawrence laughs and reaches down with his hand to stroke Andy’s cheek. “And you said you were just a little bit eager. You sound like you’re fucking thirsty to me.”

Andy laughs too, playfully. He turns his head and rubs his face against Lawrence’s crotch, marveling, as always, at the hardness of his clothes. “I am,” he admits, “So can I?”

Lawrence shrugs, but the grin on his face speaks of wanting. “Be my guest,” he says, and Andy chuckles happily as he turns and opens his mouth. 

Another thing that amuses him beyond limit is how much control Lawrence has over his own appearance and all that composes his figure. The chains, his clothes, everything about him, he can make it appear and disappear whenever he wants. So, when Andy turns with his lips already parted, Lawrence’s pants are not there anymore, and his pale cock, already hard and throbbing, is there instead, bumping against his face. Andy chuckles, giving it an affectionate lick. “Feels like you’re eager too,” he comments.

Lawrence offers him an honest smile as he lifts a hand and places it on Andy’s head, his fingers tracing the lines between his cornrows. “I thought you liked it,” he says.

Andy nods, placing the smallest of kisses on the head of Lawrence’s cock. “I do,” he whispers softly. And it is the last thing he says before he lets the whole length of Lawrence’s shaft slide into his mouth, flattening his tongue and covering his teeth with his lips to make sure they don’t scrape him, even if he doesn’t even know if Lawrence would be able to feel the pain. He seems to be able to feel pleasure, after all, why wouldn’t he be able to feel pain too?

Lawrence taught him how to suck dick, which is a pretty weird thing, Andy realizes. At some point, when he doesn’t live in this house anymore, Andy imagines he will have a boyfriend, and when they end up talking about first sexual experiences he wonders if he’ll be brave enough to admit that it was the ghost of some white chained man from two centuries ago that taught him everything there is to know about sex.

For the moment, though, that is a problem Andy doesn’t even waste time considering. For as long as they live in the old house at the end of Pearl street, he will never need a boyfriend. He will have Lawrence.

“God almighty,” Andy loves the way Lawrence exhales a random _God almighty_ when he feels too good not to bring the good Lord into play, “You’re so good at this.”

“I learned from the best,” Andy snickers, speaking with his mouth still half closed around Lawrence’s cock.

The man looks down at him, frowning deeply. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Andy lets his cock go with a popping sound, but keeps holding it in his hand, stroking it quickly. “Playing daddy again?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t enjoy it.”

“Who’s pretending,” Andy chuckles, and then his grin turns a little dirtier, a little sluttier, as he rests his head on Lawrence’s freezing thigh. “I wanna make you come,” he says, and it’s a statement that makes Lawrence chuckle softly.

“I told you already,” the man says, “You don’t have to announce or ask about everything you want to do to me. You can just do it.”

“It’s nicer to say it,” the boy grins, “I like the faces you make when I say something dirty.”

Lawrence sighs and rolls his eyes, and then he just closes them, and a serene smile descends upon his lips as he just sits there and enjoys what Andy’s doing. The boy presses his face against the ghost’s testicles, nuzzling them, sucking them into his mouth, while he keeps stroking his cock faster and faster, feeling his own excitement build up in intensity the closer his partner comes to his own orgasm.

When Lawrence finally comes, Andy makes sure to get up on his elbows and be ready for it, lips parted, tongue sticking out. Lawrence’s come is thick and cold as he is, but it tastes salty and nice, and Andy loves it. He has no idea if that’s specific to ghost jizz or if it will just turn out to be that he likes swallowing come. That, too, is a question he will leave unanswered until he can’t anymore.

Lawrence comes in long shots, only a few of which actually land on Andy’s tongue and in his mouth. The rest land on his face, across his nose, and he has to close one of his eyes to avoid being shot right into it. He chuckles, bringing a finger to his cheek to gather some come and suck at it from his fingertip. “Oopsie.”

Lawrence opens his eyes again and looks at him somewhat sternly, stroking one of his cheeks with his thumb. “Look what you made me do…” he says in a dark voice, “I got you all dirty.”

“Mmh, that’s bad,” Andy clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “Shameful.”

“I’ll have to punish you, now.”

Andy smirks and scrambles up on his knees immediately, getting closer to the headboard of his bed. This is his favorite part of it all, when Lawrence starts using his chains. “I’m ready.” He sounds so stupidly happy that not even Lawrence can keep up with the serious face any longer, and he throws his head back, laughing whole-heartedly.

“Seriously, how am I supposed to play mean if you act like that?”

“I don’t know,” Andy chuckles too, rushing to get out of his pajamas, “I can’t pretend I don’t want it, or that I’m scared about it, it’s stronger than me!”

Lawrence chuckles, getting closer to him. “You’re a marvel, you know?” he says, almost tenderly, as he straddles him and guides his arms to rest on top of his head, against the headboard. “Sometimes you really remind me of my son, you know? He was wicked like you.”

“That’s dangerous territory,” Andy chuckles, allowing Lawrence to tie his wrist with his icy chain, “You really sure you wanna link the thought of me to your son only seconds before fucking me?”

Lawrence laughs again, softly. His clothes disappear, and Andy spreads his legs to make room for his stone-hard body against his own. “Like I said,” he whispers against Andy’s lips, “Wicked.”

Andy closes his eyes and parts his lips, waiting for a kiss that makes a million butterflies fly around like crazy in his stomach the moment it arrives. Proximity with Lawrence thrills him like nothing else ever did, probably like nothing else ever will. He hopes to live an exciting life, full of experiences, full of madness, but he seriously doubts anything’s ever gonna top having sex with a freaking ghost.

Trapped by the chain and between his bed and Lawrence’s heavy weight, Andy can only grind up against the man, panting softly. “Calm down,” Lawrence whispers on his lips while he rubs his fingers against Andy’s nipples, the coldness making them hard and pointy like small arrow tips. “I’m going to have to teach you how to take it slow. At some point.”

“Not now, please,” Andy whines, pulling at the chains just for the thrill of hearing them clink, his brain focusing for a second on what he’s doing, and how, and with whom, and pleasantly overloading about it, “Now just give it to me the way I like it.”

“Hard and fast?” Lawrence grins.

Andy nods eagerly. “Hard and fast.”

Lawrence offers him his fingers, index and middle one, and Andy opens his mouth, letting them slip in. He plays with them, closes his lips around them, suckles onto them, makes them wet and slick with saliva. It feels like sucking popsicles, really, his mouth turning so cold, despite his body temperature rising following his desperate excitement. Lawrence smiles and lets his wet fingers run back down along his chest and tummy, he plays hide and seek inside his belly-button, making him chuckle, and then he sends them further down, to play with his furious erection. They’re cold but not cold enough to make him any less hard.

Andy parts his legs wider, breathing heavily as the thought of what’s going to happen soon makes his hips jerk and thrust up on pure instinct. He absent-mindedly tries to reach down to part his buttocks and expose himself for Lawrence, but the chains clink hard and keep him in place, wrapping tighter, cold as ice, around his already bruising wrists. “Nnh, come on,” he whimpers in anticipation, grinding up against Lawrence’s hard body, “You promised hard and fast.”

“I never promised,” Lawrence laughs, but he doesn’t make him wait much longer. He starts rubbing his opening from the outside, both fingers circling it, threatening to push in. Andy doesn’t feel like he needs much preparation, not in the state he’s in, not as horny as he is, but finger-fucking always feels nice, despite the temperature of Lawrence’s skin, and so, when the man’s fingers finally breach into him, he throws his head back and lets out a liquid moan as his back arches in a tense comma. He squats down on those fingers with all he has, trying to get them deeper in, and his moans become louder as he starts thrusting down hard with his ass. 

“More,” he whimpers eagerly, as usual the thrill of the act leading him towards a showcase of dirtiness he would probably offer to no one else, “More, please!”

“In a little while,” Lawrence whispers against his lips, curling his fingers inside him, “You feel so warm. I like it so much.”

“Mmh, imagine how much better that warmth will feel once it’s your cock that’s inside me…” Andy tries to tempt him with a wicked smile.

Lawrence laughs again, and Andy smiles too because there’s nothing he likes more, except sex with him, than making Lawrence laugh. He imagines that’d be quite an amazing fun fact to be able to tell about himself. I did this and that and oh, yeah, at some point in my life I was not only able to see ghosts, but also make them laugh. Not to mention the way I could make them come.

“Fine, then,” Lawrence says, kissing him once again and covering his chained wrists with his own heavy hand, to keep him still, “I’ll give you what you want.”

“Which is also what you want,” Andy grins.

Lawrence smiles, kissing him on his nose. “Which is also what I want,” he concedes. He slips his fingers out from inside Andy’s body, and in between his fingers and his cock there’s a single instant of emptiness that feels colder than any part of Lawrence’s body ever felt. But Andy barely has any time to notice it, because in the blink of an eye Lawrence is driving his cock all the way up inside him, and he can feel himself breach open for him, welcoming his cock down to the base of its shaft, and he gasps, and he almost yells, and Lawrence has to kiss him hard and deep just to silence him. “Shush, boy,” Lawrence says in a breathless laughter, if it is possible to associate the concept of breathlessness to a ghost, “Your parents will hear.”

“I don’t care,” Andy moans and mewls, rubbing his face against Lawrence like a kitten. And he really does not care. Sure, his parents don’t know about Lawrence. They don’t even know he’s gay, for that matter. But what he’s experiencing right now is so fucking otherworldly he wouldn’t care if the sky fell on him, let alone if his parents saw him.

Lawrence smiles at his words, and Andy feels that smile against his cheek, and then against his temple, and finally against his lips. And it feels cold. And it feels warm. And it feels good.

Thrusting up, he grinds against Lawrence’s stone hard stomach, moving at the same pace of Lawrence’s thrusts. The ghost gives him a good rhythm to follow, nice and even, and Andy leans against it, relies on it, uses it to help his pleasure pool up in his underbelly, the tide rising, rising more, until he shivers and he tenses and pleasure overflows, spilling out of him in hot, transparent shots that land partly on Lawrence’s chest, partly on Andy’s own.

He lies down on the bed, spent and weary, still shivering in cold and pleasure, while Lawrence keeps driving his cock in and out of him, grunting softly, until he comes again, this time all inside him. Andy shivers again because Lawrence’s come is as cold as he is, and he can feel it drip out of his hole and down his buttocks, giving him goosebumps, its coldness stark and harsh against his hot, feverish skin. “Mmh…” he licks his dehydrated lips, panting softly, “Never gonna get used to it.”

Lawrence chuckles softly, sitting up on the edge of the bed. His clothes are already back. So annoying. “I’m always telling you to keep your clothes on when we fuck,” he says with a patient sigh, “Now you’re going to be freezing for hours.”

“You could stay next to me,” he tries, patting on the bed, “Keep me warm.”

“I’d just be making it worse, you know that,” the man answers with unwavering pragmatism.

Andy groans, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “You’re dead romantic, aren’t you?”

“Just dead, sweetheart,” Lawrence shrugs, his smile turning a little sad.

Andy doesn’t like that, ever. “Don’t,” he says, shaking his head, “Can we not?”

“Someday we’re going to have to talk about it.”

“Can it not be today, of all days?”

“What’s different today of all days?”

“Nothing. I just don’t wanna have that conversation.”

Lawrence smiles patiently and stands up, getting closer to him. He carefully frees Andy’s wrists from the chains and puts them back where they belong, wrapped around his own neck, draped around his shoulders, falling down his chest and back to the ground. Then, he tucks him in, and leans on him to kiss him on his forehead. “Sleep it off, Andy,” he says softly, “You’re going to feel better in the morning.”

“But I don’t feel bad at all,” Andy insists stubbornly, despite the freezing cold that’s creeping up from somewhere deep inside him, threatening to turn him into an ice cube despite the warm blankets now all tightly wrapped around his body, “I never feel bad until you start bringing up your state of existence situation.”

Lawrence chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright.”

“Seriously, why do you have to? We both know you’re gonna come back anyway, tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” Lawrence smiles again, stroking Andy’s head with freezing though affectionate fingers, “We do know that, don’t we?”

“We do,” Andy nods. He’s barely moving, cold making him feel sleepy and slow. “So stop saying that.”

“I’ll stop,” Lawrence’s voice sounds softer, distant. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boy. Good night.”

“Nh-hn,” Andy just nods again, unable to open his lips, or to keep his eyelids up, any longer. He knows what’s going to happen now. He’s going to fall into such a lethargic sleep he’s not even going to dream. His body will have a chance to get rid of the cold, and comes tomorrow morning he will be feeling a lot better. Just a little colder than the day before. And quite definitely colder than the day before that. And his mom will hug him and tell him Jesus, Andy, did you sleep in the refrigerator?!, and Andy will laugh her off, and head off to school.

But it’s going to be fine. A low temperature means nothing, the old house at the end of Pearl street will feel comfortable even during the coldest of nights, with its wooden floors and walls, its creaking bones, its nice old-style wallpaper.

And its loving ghosts.


End file.
